


Actors are Liars by Trade

by icyvanity



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icyvanity/pseuds/icyvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celaena Sardothien is an exceptional actress and Chaol Westfall is convinced everything about her is a lie. As the bodyguard to her co-star in a bestselling franchise, Dorian Havillard, Chaol is forced to spend time in her company. Eventually, he learns there's more to her than meets the eye, and finds himself caught up in her life before he can stop himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hotel Erilea

**Author's Note:**

> for olivia

Her name was Celaena Sardothien, and Chaol was sure that name was as much of a lie as the rest of her. He’d watch her charm her way through countless press tours, giving away nothing about herself and _still_ deluding the world into thinking they knew the real her. Dorian was smitten, and that just added to the reasons Chaol was going grey early.

The People’s Choice Awards were tonight, and Dorian and Celaena were both nominated for multiple categories for their movie _Throne of Glass_. As Dorian Havillard’s loyal friend and bodyguard, Chaol was required to attend as well.

Dorian was handsome enough to find himself on magazine covers and hanging on the walls of teenage girls’ bedrooms, what with his tousled dark hair and ice blue eyes. He was currently checking said eyes in their hotel room mirror, straightening his cuffs as he gazed at himself.

Celaena was another beast entirely. She was beautiful, with flowing blonde hair and turquoise eyes ringed with gold, but cunning too. The realest Chaol had ever seen her, she’d been cutting an interviewer down with words alone, intricate sentences woven into a weapon she shoved straight down the man’s throat. He’d changed her name in his phone to “Fire-Breathing Bitch-Queen” after that occurrence.

She intrigued Chaol, but he was happy to leave it at that.

Presently, they were all staying at the world-renowned Hotel Erilea.  Celaena was getting ready in the room adjacent to Dorian and Chaol’s. Dorian was buttoning the top button of his black shirt when someone rapped on the door; Chaol, closer to it than Dorian, swung it open.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” Celaena said, patting his chest as she shouldered past him into the room. She wore a red dress with black lace detailing, her hair falling in waves down her back. Chaol looked away from her, shutting the door, as she navigated her way through their messy room to Dorian.

“You too,” she said, reaching out to straighten Dorian’s collar. Dorian had an easy smile on his face as he looked at her, traveling down the expanse of her body. Celaena raised her sculpted brows at him, tilting his chin up with a manicured finger, “My eyes are up here, _sweetheart_.”

“My apologies,” Dorian murmured; even from across the room, Chaol could see he was losing himself in her eyes, as everyone did.

Chaol cleared his throat, and they both turned to him. Nodding his head towards the door, he said, “The limo’s here.”

Celaena’s lips curled into a smile, “ _Lovely_. Lead the way.”

* * *

 When they returned home that night, both actors’ arms laden with awards, Dorian caught Chaol outside of the door to their suite while Celaena continued on to her own.

“Take these, will you?” he asked, depositing his two awards into Chaol’s waiting arms; Celaena had received four, which she was probably busy displaying in her room at that very moment. Dorian glanced toward her open door, and then back to Chaol. “Don’t wait up,” he said, taking a step toward it.

“As your bodyguard, I’m recommending you not do this,” Chaol said, knowing he could do nothing to stop Dorian on a mission.

“As your friend, I’m choosing not to listen to you,” Dorian called over his shoulder as he sailed into Celaena’s room, slamming the door behind him.

Sighing, Chaol unlocked his own room’s door, dumping the awards onto Dorian’s bed. He heard music start up in Celaena’s room, and closed his eyes. Sighing again, Chaol left the room; there was a bar on the main floor, and he was definitely in need of a drink.

* * *

 The next morning, the three of them had early flights to catch; Chaol and Dorian were heading to the Alps for what Dorian called a “much needed vacation”, while Celaena was going to New York to work on her next project. Chaol was roused from his peaceful slumber by a pounding on the door. Scowling, he stumbled over to open it; Dorian brushed past him, looking more disheveled than usual, and less satisfied than Chaol had expected.

“Bad night?” he asked, when Dorian chose not to speak in favor of throwing all of his clothes into a heap inside his suitcase.

Dorian shrugged, “No, it was great.”

Fearing his friend would choose to elaborate, Chaol hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder and prepared to make a run for it. Dorian was silent, the only sound in the room was the sound of clothes hitting the suitcase and the wall behind it.

Readying himself, Chaol asked, “But?”

Dorian sighed, “ _But_ , it’s Celaena _freaking_ Sardothien. We both have jobs between now and the sequel, and it’s not like I was expecting anything more than what I got.”

“But you’re friends.”

Dorian started trying to zip his suitcase, to no avail, “Having sex doesn’t change that.”

Chaol dropped his own duffel to help Dorian, considering his words, “Are you going to do it again?”

Dorian paused, “Only if I’m a _very_ lucky man.”

* * *

 “Doesn’t your plane leave in an hour?”

Celaena started, whirling to face him. One of her arms was behind her back, hiding something in her hand. Chaol raised a brow; she scowled.

“No one’s perfect, Westfall.” Celaena pulled the cigarette up to her mouth and took a long drag, the wind blowing the smoke towards him, across the hotel roof. Los Angeles wasn’t known for its breezes, but Celaena’s hair was being blown around like a hurricane.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he said dumbly, dropping his eyes to the ground, to keep from watching the wisps of gold that blew towards him. There was a good ten feet between them, but the distance was barely tangible.

“It’s not exactly something I advertise,” she mused, taking another drag. Chaol was silent, glaring at the pebbles on the ground as though they were at fault for his sporadic emotions. Celaena spoke again, “Come to lecture me about not breaking Dorian’s heart?”

Chaol looked up at her then, rolling his eyes, “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Celaena whistled, “Low blow, Westfall. Calling your own best friend heartless?”

Chaol spluttered, running a hand through his close cropped hair; Celaena chuckled, turning away from him once more. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a scar marring the perfect skin of her back, but it disappeared when the wind picked up again, sending her hair into a frenzy.

He closed the distance between them, coming to a stop at her side. They stood like that for a while, shoulder-to-shoulder as they surveyed the mayhem of the city down below. When Chaol glanced at Celaena, he saw that her eyes were closed, dark lashes brushing her cheeks.

“Some consider staring to be creepy,” she whispered.

Chaol scowled, looking away. They were silent, the only sounds the howl of the wind and the congested traffic far below—horns beeping, car doors slamming. When he sought her eyes again, they were open, turquoise with gold-ringed pupils radiant in the sun.

_Who are you?_ he wanted to ask.

_What are you hiding?_ he wanted to scream into the wind, letting his words wash over the both of them.

Instead he asked, “Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

Celaena’s luminous eyes regarded him the way one would regard a threat; calculating, considering. He had to shake his head to resist being entranced by the brush of dark lashes against freckled cheeks.

“I suppose I do,” she said quietly. She sounded almost resentful, glaring up at the planes passing overhead.

Chaol rushed to reassure her however he could. “Just think about it,” he said, smiling, “only eight months and then we’re back to this chaos.”

“I happen to like this chaos,” she said, a smiling curving her lips as she took one last pull on the cigarette. She let it drop, crushing it with her boot.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Chaol said, “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“For now.”

“For now,” he repeated, retracting one hand to hold out to Celaena. She looked at it, amused for a moment, before shaking it.

“Goodbye, Chaol,” she said, eyes meeting his again before flickering away.

Chaol reached for her as she turned to leave, his hand wrapping around her wrist, “Wait.”

Celaena turned back to him, expectant. Chaol swallowed, reaching back into his pocket; when he pulled it out, there was an amethyst ring in his hand. He held it out to her.

“This made me think of you. I thought—” Chaol looked down at the ring, face heating, “I thought you might wear it and think of me—of _us_ —sometimes while you’re gone.”

A smile passed over Celaena’s face for a moment. She took the ring, sliding it onto her right ring finger. She flexed her hand, glancing back up at Chaol with that barely-there smile, “As if I could forget you.”

As Celaena walked away, the flash of pale scar tissue visible again for only a moment, Chaol felt the urge to ask again, _Who are you, Celaena Sardothien?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/142568840363/actors-are-liars-by-trade)


	2. Wendlyn Wastes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of graphic death (blood and gore)

Chaol stood in Los Angeles International Airport and watched as Celaena descended the escalator, smiling amongst the throngs of her screaming fans. There was a rather large man behind her, long silver hair and tattooed scrawl along one side of his face contrasting with the thick cords of muscle straining beneath Celaena’s sizable suitcases.

Chaol also wasn’t alone, though he hadn’t spoken to Nesryn since they’d arrived. Dorian was safely stowed away in his dressing room back at the studio, having opted out of seeing Celaena again so soon; Chaol was under the impression he was waiting for her to come to him. However, he couldn’t say the same for him and Nesryn.

_“I don’t want something this complicated,” she had said the previous week, sitting at his kitchen table in one of his oversized shirts with bruises from his mouth adorning her neck._

_“How is this complicated?” he’d asked in response, hands freezing in the act of pouring_ Froot Loops _into a bowl, cereal still pouring._

 _Nesryn had sighed—one of her telling sighs, the ones that Chaol was_ sure _told a story, just not in any language he knew. “I don’t like being involved with men who have feelings for other women.”_

_She’d smiled sadly at him, leaving him to look at his spilled cereal while she got dressed and then left._

Now Celaena reached them, grinning at him as though he was her favorite person in the world; Chaol was finding it hard to breathe, but got out, “Right this way, Ms. Sardothien.”

Celaena snorted at the formality, but followed him out of the airport to the waiting limo. The silver-haired man deposited her luggage into the trunk, before climbing in after the rest of them; he took up an entire bench by himself.

Chaol glanced between the two of them until Celaena got the hint. “Introductions, of course; silly me. Chaol Westfall, this is Rowan Whitethorn. Rowan, this is Chaol.”

“Rowan Whitethorn?” Chaol asked, wracking his memory for the reason that sounded familiar, “Head tattoo artist at Wendlyn Wastes?”

Rowan nodded, “That’s the one.”

“I must say, I’m a big fan of your work,” Chaol said, readjusting his back against the seat unconsciously. Celaena was sizing Nesryn up, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed.

“Nesryn Faliq,” Nesryn supplied, reaching a hand out to Celaena. Both of them had strong grips, and Chaol could’ve sworn he saw Celaena flex before letting go.

Her eyes met Chaol’s again, smile stretching back across her lips, “So, where’s Dorian?”

* * *

“Damn, Westfall. You have abs for _days_ ,” Celaena said, appearing in the mirror behind Chaol and looking him over with approval.

Chaol shrugged, flushing, “I work out.”

Celaena nodded, grinning, “ _Yes_ , I can see that.”

Chaol had been working out in the hotel’s gym, which was fortunately outfitted with a punching bag. He’d wrapped his hands, and punched away his thoughts like he used to back in the army.

Celaena squealed suddenly, an ice cold finger shocking against his skin, “You have a tattoo.”

“I do.”

“From the way you looked at Rowan, I thought you were too prude for ink,” Celaena said appreciatively, trailing her finger across his upper back.

He huffed out a breath, relaxing from his stance, “There are enough reasons to be nervous the first time you meet Rowan.”

“He’s _very_ sweet.”

“He’s also 6’8, and has silver hair past his shoulders and tattoos covering one entire side of his body.”

Celaena chuckled, “Fair point.” She scratched at his tattoo with a nail, eliciting a shiver from Chaol. “So, what does this mean?”

“I was in the army,” Chaol said bluntly, pulling away. He rubbed his neck, barely touching the edges of his tattoo. “I was stationed at Anielle.”

Celaena sucked in a breath, “Anielle?”

Chaol nodded. Anielle had been bombed, leaving only a handful of survivors to sort through the fort to find their fallen brethren. He still remembered it some nights, the way the sky lit up before everything went straight to hell.

“I didn’t know,” she said quietly; Chaol turned to find her with downcast eyes, arms wrapped around herself.

“It was a long time ago,” Chaol said, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. “No one remembers a Captain Westfall, but I wanted to make sure I would never forget them.”

Celaena nodded, meeting his eyes, “Rowan inked me for that reason, too.”

Chaol tried to search for the truth in her eyes, tried to see what she wanted to immortalize on her skin.

“I did it to remember,” she said quietly, turning away. Chaol could see dark lines rippling under the sheer fabric covering her back; he wondered what she couldn’t forget.

* * *

Dorian’s sunglasses were tinted so dark that even Chaol, sitting a foot away from him, couldn’t see his bloodshot eyes. He knew they were there though; Dorian’s breath stank of vodka, and he was gripping the table tightly to hold himself up.

“Bad night?”  Chaol asked, eyeing Dorian warily.

“Celaena,” was all Dorian said in response.

Chaol saw red; Dorian was easily hurt, but never this badly. He got to his feet, leaving Dorian alone at the table, nursing his Bloody Mary. He knew where he would find Celaena, the same place he’d found her before, where he’d met her time and time again—the roof of the hotel.

He opened the door, letting it slam against the wall; Celaena threw a glare at him over her shoulder. Chaol walked towards her with purpose, grabbing her wrist and wrenching her around when he reached her.

“What did you _do_?”

Celaena rolled her eyes, but caught his meaning perfectly, “ _Relax_ , Captain. I’m sure Dorian will get over it soon enough.”

“Well he’s not over it _yet_. And that’s my damn business.”

“If he doesn’t, he can just do his job; he’s an actor—I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

“Dorian isn’t like that. He isn’t like _you_ ,” Chaol yelled, throwing her arm back towards her.

Celaena’s eyes narrowed, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Is there anything about you that’s real?” Chaol shouted; Celaena froze, and he knew he should’ve stopped but he couldn’t find it in him to, “You lie and charm your way through life without a care in the world, or a thought to how you might be affecting other people.”

Celaena got closer to him, snarling, “I don’t need to take this from _you_.”

She made to storm away, but Chaol grabbed her wrist, “Why not? Because I’m right? Because I’m the only person on this planet who can see through this persona, and know that it’s fake?”

“There are more serious things than an actress keeping things from her fans. Now, _let go_ ,” she said, cold and harsh as a whip.

Chaol released her, finally saying the words he’d been holding back for months, “Who _are_ you, Celaena? Everyone has secrets; what makes yours so horrible that you guard them so heavily?”

“Death makes them so horrible, Chaol!” Celaena screamed; Chaol froze. “Everyone that I cared about _died_ , and I’m not about to let that happen again. So, go ahead; hate me for lying to people, for not letting them get too close. Would you rather I’d let Dorian in? Would you rather you’d found him slaughtered in his own bed?”

She pressed on, “You really want to know who I am?” Celaena threw her arms in the air, shouting, “I’m Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. My parents are _dead_. My entire family is _dead_. Stay away from me, or you’ll end up just like them.”

There were tears in her eyes as she stormed away, but Chaol was rooted to the spot. Aelin Galathynius. The Galathynius family had been a family of stars, award-winning directors and actors that had all met their end in a mass murder that shocked Hollywood. Aelin’s parents had been found in their bed with their throats slit from ear to ear, and their daughter’s body was never found.

Chaol finally understood why.

* * *

Chaol made his way down from the roof hours later. He unlocked the door to Dorian and his room to find his friend has migrated to the table in their suite. His glasses strewn on the bed, Dorian glanced up at Chaol with bleary eyes.

They stared at each other; Dorian was the first to move. He placed something on the table, sliding something across the table with a long scratching sound. It was the amethyst ring.

“She’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/142568900478/actors-are-liars-by-trade)


	3. Ardalan Pictures

“Is that _Aedion Ashryver_?” someone screamed.

Chaol, Dorian, and Rowan froze; Rowan’s taco was halfway between his plate and his open mouth when his eyes met Chaol’s. He swore; Dorian looked up, mouth frozen in a gape.

Aedion Ashryver was Aelin’s cousin, a male model whose toned body and trademarked Ashryver eyes were a staple at all of the top runways. He’d been spotted just last week in Milan at fashion week

 “Aelin, you _fool_ ,” Rowan muttered, getting to his feet and throwing a twenty onto the table. He glanced down at the other two, brows raised.

“We’re coming,” Dorian said, he and Chaol scrambling up from their chairs. Aedion and Aelin weren’t hard to find at all; they just had to follow the sounds of screaming fans until they caught sight of two blonde heads.

Aedion saw them first, grinning and pointing over Aelin’s head at them—at Rowan, specifically. She turned, a slight smile passing over her face before she was pulling her cousin towards the trio.

“Boys,” she said by way of greeting. Security guards had caught up to them and led them into a private room away from the crowd.

Chaol watched her as they walked, saw the way she carried herself was normal, she had no visible injuries, her eyes were bright—nothing showed why she dropped off the face of the earth for two months in the middle of their pre-production press tours.

“Aelin,” Chaol said with a tight smile.

She tilted her head, regarding him, “Chaol.”

Aedion glanced between them, Aelin’s eyes in his face making a confusing picture for Chaol. He looked away from the two of them.

Aelin made unnecessary introductions; Aedion seemed more excited to meet all of them than they were to meet him, but he didn’t mind. His bright grin was infectious, and even Rowan couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

Rowan called a limo, pulling Dorian and Aedion aside. Chaol was left alone with Celaena. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, waiting for her to speak first. She seemed to be waiting for the same thing.

Chaol caved. “Where have you been?”

Aelin gestured towards Aedion; Chaol waited for more explanation. It wasn’t odd for her to go looking for her only surviving family member, one who’d believed she was dead for almost a decade. The timing simply didn’t make sense. Aelin had known where Aedion was—anyone with an internet connection did—for years, yet she’d waited.

He voiced his questions out loud, “Why now?”

Aelin considered his question; Chaol could almost see the gears turning in her head as she tried to give him an answer. Finally, “My— _conversation_ —with you that last night pushed me to do it, I suppose. And, maybe I’m just tired of hiding who I really am. If people can love Celaena Sardothien, can’t they love Aelin Galathynius the same?”

Chaol shrugged, “Are the two so different?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

“Aedion Ashryver, you get out of this trailer, or so help me God—”

“Aelin said I could visit the set today!”

“Yes—the _set_. Not this trailer, getting in my way.”

“Maybe I just like watching you work.”

“Maybe you can do it from outside. There’s a window; maybe you can get some binoculars, and sit even _farther_ across the studio lot.”

Aedion pouted dramatically at Lysandra, refusing to give up his seat. Chaol and Celaena exchanged a look in the mirror. The four of them had already been there for half an hour and Celaena’s hair was barely half done. Lysandra was letting herself be distracted by Aedion’s snarky words and impeccable cheekbones, and it was unfortunately cutting into their schedule.

Chaol raised a brow at Aelin in the mirror; she sighed. “Lysandra,” she said, “I’m so sorry to intrude, but could the two of you continue your endless flirting on your own time?”

Lysandra flushed, shooting a glare at Aedion and Aelin successively in the mirror. Chaol was happy he hadn’t spoken—he’d seen men wither under the weight of Lysandra’s enraged gaze and he had no wishes to experience that first-hand.

She finished Aelin’s hair and makeup in record time, shooing her and Chaol out of the trailer and slamming the door shut. They walked in silence across the lot until they reached wardrobe. Ardalan Pictures was the largest production company in Los Angeles proper, studios seeming to stretch miles in any direction. Their current project, _Heir of Fire_ , was in its green-screen phase, which brought Aelin and Chaol to one of the larger buildings on the property.

Aelin paused with her hand on the door.

“Your birthday’s next week, right?” she asked casually.

Chaol started; he hadn’t expected her to know it, and especially not to remember it. “It is.”

Aelin hummed, “Interesting.”

Chaol’s eyes narrowed, “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, “Dorian mentioned it recently, is all.”

Chaol groaned; Aelin grinned. Dorian was known for throwing frequent and extravagant parties, much to the dismay of the hotel staff. Chaol had never enjoyed them, but attended to fulfill his duties as Dorian’s bodyguard, as well as to make sure Dorian didn’t end up with alcohol poisoning.

“That’s certainly worrying.”

* * *

“ _So_ , what do you think?” Dorian asked, trying to hide his excitement as he gauged Chaol’s expression.

Chaol’s expression was _awed_ ; Dorian hadn’t planned a birthday extravaganza for him, instead putting the money towards the most beautiful motorcycle Chaol had ever seen. He simply nodded in response to Dorian’s question; Dorian grinned.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, slapping Chaol on the back, “Why don’t you take her for a spin?”

Chaol did take her for a spin; a fantastic, high-speed, exhilarating spin that made him feel more alive than he’d felt since returning home from Anielle.

The only thing that got close to causing this feeling was waiting next to Dorian for him as he rode into the parking lot. She wore a blue dress so light it was almost white, looking like the crest of a wave curling itself around her. Her eyes followed him as he pulled up in front of them, finding his as he removed his helmet.

Chaol expected nothing from her—he hadn’t even expected to see her today. She’d spent the entire morning off on a rather large amount of errands with Lysandra and Aedion, and he thought she’d return late into the evening.

He certainly didn’t expect the words that came out of her mouth.

“We have plans.”

“Plans,” he repeated.

Aelin rolled her eyes, “For your _birthday_ , idiot.”

“When did we make plans?” Chaol wracked his brain, trying to think back to how he’d missed them arranging this.

Aelin simply pointed up towards the top of the Hotel Erilea, “Well, I made the plans. All you have to do is show up on the roof in ten minutes in nice clothes, and your part is done.”

Chaol looked to Dorian; Dorian was pointedly looking away. Chaol sighed, meeting Aelin’s gaze once more, “Ten minutes, you said?”

Aelin grinned.

* * *

Chaol was speechless. The rooftop that he knew and loved had been transformed, tiny twinkling lights wrapped about, a table laden with a delectable meal laid out, soft music carried towards him on the wind.

His eyes found Aelin’s waiting ones, and his voice barely rose above a whisper, “You did all this for _me_?”

Aelin blew out a breath, “Who else would I do it for?”

Chaol couldn’t find it in him to speak again, so she led him to the table, pushing him into his seat. She took her seat across from him, eyes still watchful as he gazed around the rooftop.

“Happy Birthday,” she said suddenly. Chaol looked back to her, amused, and she flushed, “I just realized I hadn’t said that yet.”

“Thank you,” Chaol murmured. Aelin served the two of them, and they ate in a comfortable silence.

They found themselves standing near the edge, far enough away to be safe but close enough for the view of the twisting streets below. Chaol was aware of Aelin’s arm pressed against his, the brush of her fingers against the back of his hand as the wind blew.

“I’ve never had a birthday this great,” Chaol said, smiling down at her.

“It was just dinner.”

“A very nice dinner.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but Chaol could see the color it brought to her cheeks.

He thought back to the day she came back to Los Angeles, the answers she had given him. Chaol thought she might be more honest tonight, what with how she was looking at him; though the sun had set, he was her own personal sun, keeping all that she cared about whole.

“Why did you really choose to find Aedion now?”

Aelin hadn’t expected that question, but she didn’t pause this time.

“I told you already; you inspired me. You aren’t afraid of people knowing exactly who you are. I want that; I want to stop being afraid all the time. I want to stop being _weak_.”

Chaol shook his head, his arms moving almost of their own accord; one to Aelin’s waist and the other to cup her cheek, “You couldn’t be weak if you tried.”

He kissed her. Aelin had kissed her fair share of men and women, for work and for pleasure, but no one had ever kissed her like Chaol. He kissed her as though she was something delicate, but also someone he trusted to hold her own. Chaol kissed her deeply, but he restrained himself from moving past her crumbling barriers.

To hell with her barriers. She pressed towards him, standing on her toes to provide a better angle, and linking her arms behind his neck. His other hand fell to her waist, pulling her closer.

Aelin against him, her lips pressed to his, weakened his knees and he pulled back.

“My room?” Aelin offered, chuckling.

Chaol nodded. She led him off the roof, down to her room. As soon as she shut the door, they were on each other again. Aelin caught his lip between her teeth, eliciting a drawn-out man from him; Aelin looked proud of herself for that.

She pulled his shirt off, pressing a kiss to his bare collarbone. Chaol hesitated with his hands at the clasps on her dress. Aelin pulled back.

“There are scars,” she said, suddenly looking embarrassed, “and ink. They’re not the nicest to look at.”

Chaol reached for her face instead, tilting her chin up, “They prove you’re a survivor, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She kissed him again, pushing him onto the bed and straddling his waist. Pulling back, she realized she’d never wanted something so much as she wanted him in that moment, and she saw in his eyes he wanted her too. Aelin closed the distance between them, throwing the last of her barriers to the wind.

* * *

“What were they like?” Chaol asked, tracing a finger down the scarred and tattooed skin of her back. It was morning, the light filtering through the blinds and landing on Aelin’s back, adding to the masterpiece.

Aelin didn’t answer immediately; when she did, it was quietly, “My mother used to call me _Fireheart_.”

Chaol chuckled, “I can see why.”

Her lips turned up slightly into a smile and she continued, “Sometimes, when they had a day off, we would just sneak past our bodyguards and go for long drives all over the state; to the beaches and the forests and the tiny diners on the sides of highways.”

“Well I can see where you get your rebellious streak from.”

Aelin laughed, a truly happy sound that made sped up the rhythm of Chaol’s heart. She simply looked into his eyes, the room quiet save for the sound of their breathing.

“I’m going to tell the world who I am,” she said.

Chaol stared back at her, “You deserve to be who you are. They’ll love you, no matter what your name is.”

“What if they can’t stomach my past?”

“You’re a survivor, Aelin Galathynius,” Chaol said, reminiscent of the night before. “They cannot fault you for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/142569003823/actors-are-liars-by-trade)


	4. Château de Terrasen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of past abuse/torture and graphic death (blood and gore)

When Aelin said she was going to tell the world the truth, Chaol had hoped she would do so with tact. He’d hoped she would do it quietly, perhaps with a small press conference. What he hadn’t even considered, was that she might do it as she did all things; diving straight into the chaos of Los Angeles and the rest of the world, somehow managing to stay afloat.

Aelin had just had her name changed on the posters before they were sent out. Now, instead of advertising Dorian Havillard and Celaena Sardothien, the posters bore the names of Dorian and Aelin in striking letters above a picture of the two entwined; there was no mistaking that Celaena and Aelin were, and always had been, the same person.

The press could barely handle the news. Phones were constantly ringing with interviewers and reporters on the other end until Aelin and Dorian turned theirs off. Chaol and Rowan were the next to get bombarded with questions, until they too disposed of their devices—Rowan threw his against a wall, much to Aelin’s delight. Even Lysandra and Sorcha, Dorian’s steady girlfriend of three months, were driven to power down their phones.

All six of them were camped out in a recreation room located _somewhere_ within Ardalan Pictures. Rowan was watching the door while Aelin paced in front of the couch where the rest sat. Chaol watched Aelin, who looked increasingly angrier the longer they sat there.

“What’s taking so long?” she asked, fuming. Dorian’s father, the head of Ardalan Pictures, had called her here for a meeting, hours ago; the rest of them had tagged along for moral support for whatever was to come. “He calls a meeting and doesn’t show?”

“That’s my father for you,” Dorian said.

There were footsteps echoing down the hallway outside, and Aelin paused. The door opened, and Chaol saw horror flash across her eyes before she schooled her expression to one of disinterest.

“Arobynn,” she said, taking in the face of the man who made her into Celaena Sardothien, “I can’t say it’s nice to see you.”

Arobynn Hamel smirked at her. He had his red hair cropped short, contrary to its usual luscious length. His eyes raked over her as though he owned her, smirk deepening in appreciation.

“Hello, Aelin,” he said, his voice making Chaol’s skin crawl.

He was proud of Aelin for keeping her voice steady when she asked, “What do you want?”

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation _here_?”

Aelin’s eyes narrowed, “If you have something to say to me, you can say it in front of my friends.”

“Whatever you want, Aelin Galathynius,” Arobynn said; he said her surname like it was a curse, he spit it out like the taste of it was poison to him. “I’ve just come to say hello. The president of Ardalan Pictures has invited me to direct your next movie. _Queen of Shadows_ , yes?”

Dorian stood up, “My father doesn’t use anyone outside of the company to direct our movies.”

Arobynn smiled at him, “And yet, your father seems to have changed his mind on that little rule.”

Arobynn looked around the room at the people Aelin had chosen to surround herself with. Her friends were the strong and the talented, the beautiful and the sharp. She stood between Arobynn and those she cared about as though she were a shield.

He looked back to Aelin, whose face was controlled once again, “I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, _Aelin_.”

Arobynn reached forward, taking her hand in his. His eyes were on hers as he lowered his lips to brush her knuckles.

Then he was gone, the door shut behind him, and Aelin fell to her knees.

* * *

Chaol was worried, to say the least. Aelin told him she had a meeting with Arobynn that evening, and then disappeared halfway through the day. Rowan and he had been looking for her for twenty minutes when the screaming started. They ran. It was echoing everywhere, and they both knew it was Aelin. They wasted another ten minutes trying to find her when suddenly, they found the building where it was loudest.

They walked quietly down the hallway as the scream cut off; they knew now which room it came from. Chaol nudged the door open, holding a hand out to Rowan to stay behind him. He could see Aelin, expression horrified and pained, and swaying on her feet.

“Don’t,” he heard her say, her voice a rasp from screaming. “Please just let him go.”

Chaol felt his heart drop: _Dorian_. He could just see the back of Dorian’s head, tilted back so he was looking at the ceiling. Chaol realized he was looking at the tiny camera above him, catching all of this on film.

Arobynn chuckled, “If I start letting people go, then people will start thinking I’m weak. You know I’m not weak.”

Aelin simply glared at him.

Arobynn clucked his tongue, “Now, now, Aelin. Remember the last time you disobeyed me; don’t make that mistake again?”

“You mean when you had me beaten to a pulp?” Aelin snarled; Chaol and Rowan exchanged horrified looks, “Or the day when you had me whipped so badly I still have the scars to prove it? Or did you mean the day when I paid off my debts to you and left your sorry ass behind?”

Arobynn’s voice was cold, “Careful, Aelin. You don’t want me to shoot your friend, do you?” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “At least he’ll have a better death than your parents.”

The words hit Aelin like a physical blow, sending her reeling back. “My parents?” she asked flatly, hands balling into fists.

“They didn’t even have time to beg for their lives or yours, before I slit their throats and left them to drown in their own blood. Left them, to find _you_. Little did I know that you had already left your room for theirs, that you would crawl into bed with their lifeless bodies to comfort you.”

“You _monster_ ,” Aelin said, her fists shaking, “You were their _friend_.”

Arobynn came into view, the gun in his hand pointed straight at Dorian. “Friend,” he said, laughing, “I was their slave. I couldn’t go anywhere without hearing how lucky I was to work with the Galathynius family, how glad I should be that they took me in. They were old money, but they didn’t deserve the praise.”

“So you killed them? You killed my parents, my _entire family_ , because you wanted to leave their shadow?” Aelin’s voice was heavy with anger and disbelief.

“You’re lucky I did it, dearest,” Arobynn said, trailing a finger down Aelin’s clenched jaw, “Or else you would’ve had to do it yourself.”

“I’m not like you,” Aelin said.

“You’re exactly like me; cunning and beautiful and willing to do whatever it takes.”

Aelin chuckled then, a horrible sound that clawed its way down Chaol’s spine, “You’re wrong. I don’t need to murder those who stand above me. If I overcome them, it’s because of my _talent_ , not because I carved them up where they slept. Sorry that you don’t know what it means to be successful, Arobynn.”

Rage flashed over Arobynn’s face, and Chaol saw it happen in slow motion; he squeezed the trigger.

Chaol wasn’t sure where the bullet was supposed to hit Dorian, but he moved before he could consider that. He tackled Dorian to the ground, feeling fire surge up at the base of his spine as the bullet hit him instead.

He was aware that Rowan had disarmed Arobynn, that Aelin was screaming. Dorian was breathing hard beneath him. Chaol couldn’t move, couldn’t push Dorian out from under him or even lift his head to see if Aelin had been hurt as well. His brain was clouded with pain, eyes squeezed shut against it.

“Call 911,” he heard Aelin say, but it sounded as though she were a lifetime away.

“Chaol,” he heard Dorian say, felt him grip his shoulders. “ _Chaol_ , stay with me.”

Chaol had promised Dorian that when he came back from Anielle; he’d never broken that promise, but his vision was receding and he tried to speak. He tried to apologize that he would have to break his promise now. He heard Dorian saying his name, but then everything was black.

* * *

When Chaol opened his eyes, it was to a white room with machines beeping on either side of him. Dorian was in the chair next to his bed, blue eyes wide as he watched Chaol.

Chaol tried to speak, but it only came out as a croak, “Dorian.”

Dorian rushed to pour him a cup of water, holding it up to Chaol’s mouth for him to drink. Chaol tried to take it from him but his hands shook too badly. He tried to think back to the room with Arobynn and Aelin and Dorian, but he couldn’t get past the moment he ran inside.

“What happened?” he rasped when Dorian took the water away. “I remember the two of you and _him_ in a room, but—”

Dorian hesitated, eyes dropping to the cup in his hands as if it could give him strength. When he looked back up, his expression was mournful, “Arobynn Hamel dragged Aelin and I to that room, tormenting her and threatening to kill me. She knew if she said something that angered him too much, he would shoot me. I don’t blame her for what she said; Arobynn _killed her parents_. But he pulled the trigger, and you took the bullet, and—”

He broke off, eyes falling shut.

“And?” Chaol prompted.

Dorian met his eyes, “And he paralyzed you from the waist down.”

Chaol’s mouth fell open in shock. He couldn’t feel his legs, but he hadn’t given that much thought since the rest of his body wasn’t faring too well either. He tried to wiggle his toes, but realized that Dorian was right.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian whispered. “Aelin thinks it’s her fault, and she won’t come near this room.”

Chaol shook his head, working up enough energy to reach out to Dorian; he pulled his best friend toward him, telling him, “It’s neither of your faults. I acted of my own accord.”

Dorian’s voice was muffled into Chaol’s hospital gown, “You might never walk again.”

“Then I’ll never walk again.” Dorian pulled back to look at him, eyes rimmed with red, as Chaol continued, “But I would do it again in a heartbeat. I couldn’t bear losing either one of you.”

Dorian sniffed, “It’s all over now, isn’t it? She finally knows who destroyed her life—his confession was recorded on the cameras at the studio—and she’ll watch him get brought to justice. Where do we go from here?”

“Well,” Chaol said, smiling, “you and Aelin will finish this franchise one day. We’ll all remain great friends and live happily ever after.”

“Speaking of,” Dorian said, reaching into his pocket; he fished out the amethyst ring. “I brought this. Thought you and Aelin might finally find some way to be together now.”

Chaol curled a fist around the ring, “I suppose that’s possible.”

“Do you want me to go get her?” Dorian asked.

Chaol nodded. His friend rose and left the room. Chaol stared at the TV, watching whatever program Dorian had put on in the hours he had sat by Chaol’s side. The door opened.

Aelin closed it slowly behind her, turning to face him. Her eyes were swollen and her lip wobbled as she looked at Chaol; he held his arms out to her. Aelin approached the bed, folding herself against his chest, and let out a long breath.

“Everything’s okay,” Chaol soothed her.

Aelin laughed without humor, pulling back, “You get shot, and I’m the one who needs comforting.”

Chaol shrugged to the best of his ability, “You did just find out the answer to the biggest question of your life. That would be enough to handle on its own, without my getting shot on top of it.”

Her face twisted with pain, and she said, “He was one of the worst men I’ve ever met, but I stayed with him for years because I thought it’s what my parents would want. When, in actuality, that monster turned out to be the very person who took my entire family away from me.”

Chaol rubbed down her arms, waiting for her to speak again.

“I realized something, when I was drinking the shitty coffee in the waiting room downstairs, surrounded by the people I love. I realized that I have a new family; it’s not better than my old one, but it’s more than I ever would have received had I stayed with Arobynn. Instead, I escaped from him and found you and Dorian and Rowan and Aedion and Lysandra, and even Sorcha—though I’m not sure if she’ll be able to stand Dorian for the rest of her life.” Aelin took a deep breath, “I would give up the world to save _this_ family, and I know my parents would support me in that.”

Chaol reached up to cup her face; she leaned into the touch. “I would do anything for you as well,” he said. “For all of you.”

Aelin smiled, nervousness tugging on one corner of her mouth, “I also realized that I have a home. The Hotel Erilea is lovely, but the Château de Terrasen is mine by birthright; I can finally claim it and go _home_. It’s certainly large enough to accommodate all of us—we can even sleep peacefully while Lysandra and Aedion do sinful, unspeakable things to each other, because we won’t even be able to hear them from across the house.”

“That does sound lovely.”

Aelin hummed in agreement.

“I have a proposition for you, then,” Chaol said, a smile forming on his face. “Think of it as an addition to the future you’ve already thought out for the lot of us.”

“I had quite a while to think, thank you very much. Surgery takes _time_.”

“I’m aware—I was the one in surgery.”

“Like you _remember_ ,” Aelin retorted.

Chaol covered her mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he took a deep breath. “Marry me,” he said, watching as her eyes widened. “Marry me, Aelin Galathynius or Celaena Sardothien or whatever other name you call yourself. I’ll call you whatever you wish and follow you as well as I can, until the end of my days.”

He held out the amethyst ring to her, moving his other hand away from her mouth. Aelin grinned, holding her hand out to him. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she said.

Chaol slipped the ring onto her finger, remembering the first time he had presented it to her with a smile that matched hers. Aelin leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. Whatever was to come, they would handle it together and persevere. They were unstoppable with the other by their side, surrounded by the mismatched family they had stumbled upon on their way to each other. All would be well, as it was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [read on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/142569130963/actors-are-liars-by-trade)


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